


Dead Weight State

by moiraes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace, Heaven, M/M, Mark of Cain, Post-Episode: s10e09 The Things We Left Behind, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3087146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moiraes/pseuds/moiraes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On day eight, Castiel appeared at their front door, alone, grim-faced, and weary, and said, “I may have found something.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Weight State

**Author's Note:**

  * For [through_shadows_falling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/gifts).



> This is for you, through_shadows_falling. This was my first foray into writing for this fandom, and I had such a blast doing it. I originally had so much more planned with trueform!Cas, but time got away from me. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Thank you for the lovely prompts, and I hope you had a happy holiday season!

Sam made the ten hour drive back to the bunker in a little over eight, shoulders hunched and eyes hard, silent but for the occasional sharp exhale of breath. The moment they made it back, he took it as his personal mission to find a cure, ASAP.

Dean didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was a lost cause, that if there was  _anything_ to be found on the Mark, they would’ve found it ages ago. Instead, he stayed quiet, halfheartedly leafing through boxes upon boxes of files as his brother tore through every room in search of answers that just didn’t exist. The only time he tried to say something other than ‘hey, let me go whip us up some sandwiches’ or ‘pass me that box,’ tried to bring up the possibility of there not being an answer, Sam put a stop to it before he had been able to get a whole sentence strung together. Days passed, but it felt more like prolonging the inevitable than any true calm before the storm.

And then on day eight, Castiel appeared at their front door, alone, grim-faced, and weary, and said, “I may have found something.”

 

“This is your idea of ‘something’?”

He hadn’t got his hopes up -- truly, he hadn’t -- but yeah, there had been just a tiny part of him that had been expecting something more promising than ‘I maybe found an angel who maybe knows something about the Mark.’

“It is something, Dean.” The relief and tentative hope in Sam’s eyes felt like a punch to the gut. “Look, man, we’ve been hitting nothing but dead ends. At least this gives us someplace else to start.”

Dean sighed and lifted a hand to rub at his brow. “Fine. Whatever.” He’d play along for now, while the Mark still felt like little more than embers, temporarily sated by the bloodbath in Illinois. “Okay, Cas. Who is it?”

“His name is Ramiel.” Cas had shed his overcoat and was now seated across from Sam at one of the tables in the library. Dean wasn’t sure if it was the way the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to expose his forearms, or the way he was slouching, or the dark circles under his eyes, or the general air of defeat around him, but Cas seemed almost broken, and too close to human for comfort. “He was one of the first angels to interact with humanity. If rumor is to be believed, he knew Abel personally. If there’s anyone who would know more about the Mark of Cain, it would be him.”

“Cas, hey. You okay?” Evidently Dean wasn’t the only one to notice how run down the angel looked. Sam leaned across the table, face full of the same concern Dean had spent the last week doing his best to avoid. “You’re not looking so good.”

Cas’s face twisted into a grimace. “I’m fine.” Apparently, he still hadn’t learned how to lie convincingly. “It’s nothing that can’t wait.”

And Dean knew he should press, should piggyback off of Sam’s concern and get at the truth, but he’d never been good at… this. He couldn’t sit and listen as Cas laid down yet another problem, couldn’t let himself give into the worry and concern gnawing at him. So instead, he inhaled noisily, reached for his half-empty beer bottle, and said, “Good.” He steadfastly ignored the bitch face Sam threw at him. “So where do we find this Ramiel guy?”

“Yes, well. That part may be a problem.”

Yeah, this was going to be fan-frigging-tastic. They all waited, sitting in silence for a moment before Dean cleared his throat. “Care to elaborate?”

“He’s in Heaven.”

Given how Sam’s eyebrows immediately drew into a frown, Dean was guessing he wasn’t the only one that saw a problem here. “Awesome. Well, the last time Sam and I went knocking on heaven’s door, it was via the business end of a shotgun.” The laugh that punched out of him was hollow and dark. “Considering what happened the last time I died, I’m pretty damn certain that’s not an option we have now.”

“No,” Cas agreed, though the reminder had apparently given him some sort of motivation. The look he levelled at Dean next was stronger, more determined, and some of the weariness surrounding him faded as he straightened in his chair. “We’d use the portal.”

“The one you and Gadreel used to break into Heaven?” Sam asked, perking up.

Dean wasn’t exactly sure what portal they were talking about, but neither did he particularly care. “Wouldn’t it be easier for him to just grab a meatsuit?” Sure, sucked for the vessels, but trying to find a way into Heaven sounded a hell of a lot more of a pain in the ass.

But Cas just shook his head. “Almost all of the angels have returned home. Hannah and I worked for several weeks to round up most of the remaining ones.”

It took a second for the name to register, but when it did, Dean was half flabbergasted, half pissed. “Hannah?” he repeated flatly. “As in the Hannah who told you to gank me? That Hannah?”

“She was just doing what she thought was best, Dean.”

“Yeah, no, awesome. Nice choice in buddies there, Cas.” He drained the rest of his beer in one go, feeling irritation and hostility beginning to simmer under his skin again, when another thought occurred to him. “Wait, was she the ‘female’ you had out in the car?”

Frustration was beginning to war with the exhaustion on Cas’s face, and Dean wasn’t sure whether to count it as a victory or not. “What does that matter?”

Sam cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the building tension like a blade. “Okay, guys. Back on subject?”

Cas finally dragged his stare away from Dean, sighing once more. “No one is taking vessels anymore,” he explained. “With everything that’s happened in the last several years, their priority --  _our_  priority -- now is to reform Heaven. That means staying in Heaven to do so.”

“Huh. I guess that would explain why it’s been a while since we’ve seen a member of the God Squad,” Dean said with a shrug. Good riddance. It certainly made things easier, having one less dick species on their tails. He hadn’t missed the way Cas had stumbled over the pronoun, either, though that was definitely a matter for another time. “Great. So going up there is the only way to talk to this guy. Can I even get into Heaven?”

“I believe so, yes.”

Reassuring. “And there, uh, won’t be any issue with the thing on my arm?” The angels had never exactly been his biggest fans, and he couldn’t imagine bearing the father of murder’s brand would endear him to them in any way.

Sam just shrugged. “One way to find out, I guess?” he said, sounding so damn optimistic that Dean didn’t have the heart to get pissed. He’d seen how frantic Sam had been, how willing he’d been to believe Dean when he’d insisted for weeks that he was fine, how desperately he’d begged Dean to tell him that he’d had had no other choice. He knew his brother was just as, if not more, terrified of what happened next as he was.

“And this sounds like a good idea to you?”

The sigh he received in reply was heavy, and the frown following it even more so with all the things left unsaid. “Look, Dean, I mean, yeah, it sounds like a stretch. But it’s really our only option at this point.”

It wasn’t, and given how Cas suddenly refused to meet his gaze, Dean knew Cas hadn’t forgotten what he’d asked of him last time they met, but like hell was he going to bring it up in front of Sam. “Fine,” he said. He knew which battles to pick. He knew, deep in his bones, that this trip would be a waste of time and energy, but it’d give Sam at least a day or two off from hovering and worrying, and it’d give him time to talk Cas into doing what needed to be done. “When do we leave?”

 

He didn’t mean to bring it up, not right away at least. Cas might have looked worn down and tired as all hell at the moment, but he knew better than most how the angel could turn all righteous fury and indignation when he wanted to. But an hour into the drive, the silence was eating at him, making him itchy and restless behind Baby’s wheel, and blaring his music just wasn’t cutting it. He knew jumping right into the fray with, ‘hey, remember when you promised to take me out if I went dark side? Time’s a-wastin’, buddy,’ would only end badly, but he’d never been a master of small talk, and there were really only two topics of conversation to be had. “So how bad is it, really?” he said abruptly, going for option B.

Cas turned from where he’d been staring out the window for the last twenty miles. “How bad is what?”

“Your Grace.” He could practically hear the frown Cas directed his way. “Sam was right, you look terrible.” When he turned his head to look at Cas in the passenger seat, sure enough, there was a frown creasing his forehead, though there was less confusion and more defeat than he’d been picturing in his head. “So? How bad we talking?”

Cas just pursed his lips. “You’re right,” he said on an exhale, turning to stare out the front window. “It’s burning up again. I thought I would have more time, but the decay… it’s much faster this time.”

Even with how disconnected Dean had felt from everything, with the unease burning through his veins, he still felt a twinge of fear and dread at the resignation in his friend’s voice. “Sam said you were worse, uh, this summer.” It was awkward, mentioning the six week period he’d spent as a demon so casually, but the way Cas’s jaw clenched said that he knew exactly when Dean was referring to. “And you got better,” he added, somewhat unnecessarily. “At least for a while, anyway. Whatever you did, can’t you do it again? Just until we find a more permanent solution?”

“It was Crowley.”

Dean stopped himself from slamming on the brakes in surprise, but just barely. “Crowley? Crowley saved you?”

“There was an angel after Hannah and me. She would have killed me, but Crowley appeared. He killed her, and poured her Grace down my throat.” He said it so fucking calmly, like Crowley showing up to save his bacon was a thing that happened all the time.

“What the hell, man? Why would Crowley want to buy you more time?”

Cas sighed and shook his head. “The only person who knows why Crowley does anything is Crowley himself.” There was a beat of silence, and then Cas continued, voice quiet, but firm as he added, “And no. I won’t kill another angel to give me more time.”

Dean’s bewilderment was quickly eclipsed by anger. “So you’re just gonna sit there, wasting what little time you have left on this last-ditch effort at finding information instead of trying to find some kind of solution.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cas turn sharply to stare at him. “This _is_ me trying to find a solution, Dean. I’m prioritizing.”

“It’s suicide,” he seethed, his grip on the wheel tightening. He knew, rationally, that perhaps he shouldn’t be getting this angry: he’d do the same, had done the same plenty of times. But it was too familiar and too infuriating, this back-and-forth, hypocritical-as-fuck dance of ‘my life isn’t worth as much as yours’ that they’d been playing for years, and he was sick of it, especially now, when there was really only one option.

“You’re angry with me,” Cas said, which, yeah, no shit, Sherlock.

“Damn right I’m angry with you.”

“Why?”

The cherry on top was that Cas had the gall to actually sound confused. “You won’t save yourself. You won’t take me out. We’re just spinning our wheels. There’s no way this won’t end badly. You’ll burn out or blow up or whatever, I’ll still have this damn Mark and turn into a demon, and Sam won’t have anyone to help take me out.”

“Dean--”

“You could end this,” he spat. His whole arm was raw, the Mark throbbing in time to his rocketing heartbeat. “Right now. Hell, I basically  _begged_  you to, and yet here we are, wasting our time on a friggin’ field trip to Heaven. You told me that if I went off the rails again that you’d--”

“No, Dean, I didn’t. You asked and I listened, but I never agreed. Not once you actually elaborated the favor you were asking, that is,” he amended.

“Why the hell not? Man, you saw what I did back in Pontiac. You and I both know it’s just a matter of time before I get ganked one way or another, and I’ll be damned before I make Sammy deal with a black-eyed version of me again.” He snorted and, unable to help himself, added, “Literally.”

“You think this is funny?” Cas sounded truly angry for the first time. 

 _Good_ , Dean thought savagely. “I’m not laughing.”

“And if it was Sam in your place? Could you do it?” Cas asked, as though he didn’t know the answer. As though it hadn’t  _always_  been Dean doing everything in his power to save Sam from whatever curveball they’d been thrown that year -- freaky visions, demon blood, Lucifer, his wall, the trials.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because it’s Sam, man.” It wasn’t much of an explanation, but it was the only one he’d ever needed, and he knew Cas knew that. “You know I couldn’t.”

“Well,” Cas said flatly. “It’s you, Dean, and I can’t.”

And what could he possibly say in response to that? The silence reigned for several long moments, the air almost thick with some electric tension. It went on for just a beat too long to warrant a response, so Dean just let his jaw click shut, gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned white, and reached for the radio.

 

The sun had set by the time Cas directed them off the interstate and onto some county road. Of all the places Dean would have imagined a portal up to Heaven being, the pretty generic playground Cas led them to would not have been one of them. “The stairway to Heaven is through some monkey bars?” he asked skeptically as they pulled in, surveying the scene before them. It was almost fully dark by now, the meager light casting tall shadows that made it look more like a set to some C grade horror movie than any holy portal or whatever.

“A sandbox,” Cas amended. The moment the car turned off, he was out, wasting no time in striding over to the enormous sandbox. He grabbed a stick and began drawing an elaborate design as Dean walked closer. With a few murmured words of Enochian, the marks in the sand began to glow, the white growing steadily brighter before Dean’s eyes. He was grateful for the arm Cas stretched out to him; he couldn’t see a damn thing, near-blind from the sudden intensity of the light and the swirls of pearly mist enveloping the darkness, and he could only follow helplessly when Cas tugged him forward.

He was expecting to see that barren field and a young Sammy staring up at him, or maybe his mom smiling down at him and offering him a piece of pie, or even some white expanse of nothing closer to what he’d first imagined Heaven would be like. Once his eyes adjusted, though, he saw it was none of the above.

They were standing in a small diner, nautical images scattered along the walls, a quiet murmur of indistinguishable conversation and the clatter of dishes providing a steady soundtrack. It took a moment for Dean to get his bearings, but the moment he recognized their surroundings, he fought the urge to be sick. It was the place he and Cas had eaten at a little over a week ago (and Jesus, it felt like it’d been at least triple that). He’d shooed Sam away to give himself the opportunity to ask Cas to kill him (and, if he’s being honest, out of no small amount of fear that the bitch would bring up Destiel or Casdean whatever the hell he wanted to call it just to fuck with Dean), but he hadn’t anticipated just how much it’d feel like, well, a _date_. He’d been at thousands of these places and eaten burgers with his brother, but sitting next to Cas and stealing his food and just talking -- it had felt miles different, comfortable and awesome and terrifyingly easy. So yeah, on some level, he wasn’t really surprised that it made his greatest hits. Reliving it while standing next to Cas, though; that was what was making his stomach churn.

He turned, hoping he didn’t look nearly as exposed and embarrassed as he felt, and opened his mouth, a half-assed joke and an apology on the tip of his tongue. Cas was completely frozen but for how his eyes were darting from one table to the next. It stung a little, seeing the obvious discomfort and alarm in his friend’s eyes, and the words died in his mouth. Dean floundered for a long, painful moment -- and then he noticed it. The other occupants of the room were still chattering and eating, stuck in the memory’s time loop. But they were all crisp and clean, none of the details muddled or ambiguous, even those Dean couldn’t recall noticing before. And there was something… He peered closer at the couple nearest to where he was standing, and once it clicked, his jaw dropped. What he was seeing, the flickering lights everywhere at the edges of his vision: they were _souls_. He could see their souls, which meant --

“Is this _your_ memory?” he asked.

The distress in Cas’s eyes disappeared, his face closing off in a way that Dean hadn’t seen for _years_. “That’s impossible.” His voice was annoyingly even.

Dean tried to catch Cas’s gaze, but Cas refused to meet his eyes, his line of sight instead flicking to somewhere behind Dean’s shoulder. When he turned, Dean saw himself walking back to the table, a plate in each hand. “Alright,” his memory-self said as he sat down, setting one plate down in front of an empty seat and the other in front of him. He peered over at the empty seat -- where Cas had been sitting that day, Dean suddenly realized -- and began chattering away through mouthfuls of his burger.

The real Dean turned away, unable to look at the mortifyingly fond expression on his own face as his doppelganger recounted their latest hunt. The implications had his whole body reeling, but he forced down the nausea and joy and fear, forcing himself to focus. “Yeah,” he said, trying to act like he wasn’t having a minor break-down, “apparently not.” Cas didn’t react, eyes still fixed on memory-Dean. “Why would it be impossible? I thought everyone had their own heaven.”

“Every human soul, yes.” A flicker of something passed across Cas’s face as he finally looked away from the scene, but it was gone again before Dean could get a clear read on it. “Angels don’t have souls.”

Dean was forcibly reminded of earlier, how Cas had referred to the angels as ‘them’ and not ‘us’. “Maybe. But most angels aren’t resurrected a bunch of times, either,” he said lightly. “Or have a vessel without a human riding alongside. You’re different, Cas.”

He meant it to be reassuring, but Cas seemed anything but. “Perhaps.” He cleared his throat, maybe to diffuse the tension, but it rapidly turned to a series of coughs that sounded far too real and painful to be a distraction.

“Cas, hey.” Dean had a hand on Cas’s back before he could give it a second thought, rubbing between his shoulders like he’d done so many times for Sam. A second later his brain caught up with his body and he felt his whole body freeze. He was already on edge from the location and the previous conversation, and the sudden proximity wasn’t helping to clear his head any. Despite this, he deliberately kept his hand where it was, swallowing his cowardice out of concern. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Cas said with a shake of his head, though his voice sounded even rawer than usual. “We should get moving.”

“Right, yeah.” Dean’s hand fell away, back to dangling awkwardly at his side. They were here for a reason. Ramiel. “So what, we follow this Moon Axis again?”

Cas’s face scrunched up in confusion for a moment, then cleared as understanding dawned. “The Axis Mundi?” he corrected. Dean didn’t miss the hints of amusement his voice held.

“Yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes, “that.”

“No. The Axis Mundi leads inward, to the Garden. We need to go out. Ramiel should be near the Gates.” With one last, brief look at memory-Dean, Cas headed for the entrance to the diner.

Dean followed a beat later, definitely relieved to be putting this place behind them. “Whoa, wait,” he said as he fell into place next to Cas. “As in the pearly gates? Is that an actual thing?”

“Not like humans picture it,” he said, shoving the door open to reveal the parking lot. “It’s the entrance to the individual Heavens generated by human souls.”

“Huh.” Dean let out a small huff of breath, somewhat intrigued despite himself. Sure, Heaven had turned out to be fewer harps and fluffy white clouds and whatever than the expectation, and he’d never been the ‘kowtow in reverence’ type anyway, but there was something still a bit impressive about seeing the real deal for himself. The parking lot melted away as they crossed it, gravel and grey-blue sky disappearing into an expanse of white. It was thankfully duller than the light that had led them here; no blinding pain or spots in his vision, just a stretch of nothing as far as he could see.

They’d been walking in silence for a few minutes when there was a sudden intake of breath and a flash of something beside him. Dean startled, automatically reaching for the gun tucked in the small of his back. It wouldn’t do any good against anything up here, but he’d brought it nonetheless, unable to stomach being completely unarmed. Its familiar weight in his hand was a small comfort as he whirled around to see a huge explosion of light.

It was Cas. Dean watched, half-fascinated, half-horrified as Cas flickered in and out, a tall, unbearably bright amalgamation of light taking the place of his body. “Dean,” the thing -- _Cas_ \-- said, its voice completely unlike the usual gravel-rough one Dean was used to, but somehow familiar at the same time. It was like looking at the sun from underwater, the light wavering and refracting, twisting into shapes completely unrecognizable. Dean could just make out a figure that looked like a bird in the vaguest sense of the word, and caught glimpse of something that reminded him of lightning, and then the sound of metal clashing, the flutter of wings, the unbearable heat of a fire… His eyes were burning, but he couldn’t look away, rooted to the spot as the pillar of light flashed a few more times, then turned back into Cas.

“What,” Dean said, once he’d recovered his voice, “the hell was that?”

“Me.” If Cas had looked tired before, he looked exhausted now, his face grey and his body wobbling with every step. He flickered again, and Dean could just make out a series of colors hidden in the white before he was human-shaped again, looking as though he was about to keel over. “I’m having difficulty keeping my form up.”

“You know, there are pills that can help with that.” The comment flew out of Dean’s mouth before he could help it.

The bitch face he got in return was one Sam would have been proud of. The effect was somewhat lessened though as alarm briefly overtook it before disappearing into more blinding light.

Dean kept the grip on his gun tight, but never made any move to raise it from where it hung at his side. He’d spent so long thinking of Cas as _Cas_ , this dorky, goofy little dude with messy hair, annoyingly blue eyes, and trademark coat that he’d almost forgotten that, underneath, Cas was still _Castiel_ , something so old and so unknowable and, ultimately, so far from human that Dean couldn’t begin to wrap his head around it. “Okay, seriously,” he asked, strangely hoarse, once Cas looked like himself once more. “What the hell is going on?”

Cas swayed a bit, but remained firmly human-looking. “It’s… requiring more effort than I had anticipated, taking us both here.”

Yeah. That couldn’t be good. “Uh. Care to elaborate?”

“Human bodies aren’t meant to be in Heaven.” He stopped, sucked in a deep, unsteady breath, and then began moving again with a small nod in Dean’s direction. “Obviously it’s not impossible for them to enter, or any angels on Earth would need to vacate their vessels before returning,” he said as they walked on, and Dean frowned, remembering the whole mess with Jimmy Novak. It had been a bloody, messy catastrophe, from beginning to end, and he could definitely understand how it would be something the angels would avoid at all cost. “It only requires a small amount of Grace to tie the body to our true form.”

Yeah, ‘only’ a ‘small amount.’ Cas had gone from bad to worse in the scarce few minutes they’d been upstairs. “Right. Let me guess, that ‘small amount’ is more than you can safely do what with the burning up or whatever.”

Cas grimaced. “By itself, maybe not. But I’ve had to exert more than I anticipated keeping you here as well, seeing as separating your soul from your body wasn’t an option.”

Alarm bells were ringing by the dozen in his ears. Shit, if Cas was going downhill this fast, they had even less time than they’d been counting on. The worry that there’d be no one to take him out was undeniably fresh in Dean’s mind, but it had been wholly eclipsed by panic and fear for Cas himself. He wanted to call the whole thing off, to go back to Earth and switch gears, sending Sammy looking for possible solutions to Cas’s predicament instead of his own. Hell, chances were they’d have a lot better luck with the Grace situation than the Mark. He knew, though, that there’d be no convincing Cas to turn back now. The stubborn son of a bitch was as bad as he and Sam that way. So if leaving wasn’t an option, they needed to get to Ramiel, and preferably soon. “Are you gonna be able to hold out long enough to even get to Ramiel?”

“Yes.” Cas’s expression very clearly left no room for further argument on the subject. “It’s not much further.”

Dean threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine.” It wasn’t fine, though. Chances were, if it _did_ turn out to be much further, Cas would end up running himself into the ground, and Dean had no idea where they’d be able to go from there. But arguing would only slow them down.

They trudged on, until, in the midst of the whole lot of nothing on the horizon, a figure appeared. He was somewhat plain: olive skin, average height, and a forgettable face, but beside Dean, Cas heaved a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank you for meeting us,” he said as they approached.

“Castiel,” the angel said in reply, nodding his head gravely to the two of them. “And Dean Winchester, I presume.”

“You’re Ramiel?” Dean asked.

“Indeed.” It was kind of creepy, how serene and stoic the dude’s expression was.

Right. Well. Might as well jump into it then. He clapped his hands together, affecting a somewhat strained smile. “So, uh, Cas said you may know something about the Mark of Cain?”

“Perhaps,” Ramiel said, simply tilting his head a few degrees in a way that was painfully reminiscent of the way Cas had been back in the early days, still factory-fresh and impassive, “though I am not sure I have the answers you seek.”

“Please, Ramiel,” Cas said. Some of the exhaustion that had been so prevalent on his face had disappeared, replaced with fervor and focus. “Anything would be helpful.”

“Very well. As you may know, I was among the first tasked with shepherding the recently departed souls beyond the Gates.”

“You were a Reaper?” Dean hadn’t meant to ask it aloud, but what the hell.

“Among other things, yes. In the beginning, there was no need for our roles to be so inflexible. Humanity was much smaller then, much more fragmented. Did you know your species was on the brink of extinction at one point?” The first hint of emotion showed in Ramiel’s expression, a bit of amusement with the scholarly dispassion. “How strange it seems now, given how widely you have spread.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s great,” Dean said, barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes. Frigging fascinating. “But what does this have to do with the Mark?”

“One of the first souls I escorted to Heaven was Abel’s. He was a righteous man, and was horrified to learn that it had not been our Father that he had been speaking with, but the Serpent. He asked me to go to his brother, to see if there was anything to be done.”

“I’m guessing there wasn’t.”

Ramiel nodded. “Indeed. The deal with Lucifer had left a brand upon his soul. Even if I had been permitted to intercede on Cain’s behalf, that kind of binding magic… it would have been beyond my abilities to remove.”

“So this was a waste of a trip, that’s what you’re saying?” He’d been trying his hardest to stay calm; the last thing they could afford was for him to go off in a fit of rage, Mark-fuelled or otherwise, but that was turning out to be easier said than done. They’d wasted their time and, more importantly, wasted Cas’s ever-dwindling time and Grace, for nothing. 

“Unfortunately so, Dean Winchester.”

Before Dean could begin to put his thoughts into words, Cas interrupted. “That’s not good enough.” Going by the tone to his words and the crease forming between his eyebrows, he was losing patience just as rapidly as Dean. “Ramiel, there must be something. I was told that if anyone could help, it would be you.”

Ramiel either didn’t notice their exasperation or didn’t care. “I am sorry, brother.”

Cas’s scowl deepened, but it was Dean’s turn to interrupt. “Look, so there’s no Magic Eraser. I wasn’t expecting one. But come on, man, you gotta give us something, anything, to work with. About the Mark or how the binding magic works or… whatever?”

Ramiel hesitated, the action more human than anything he’d done since he’d appeared. “Magic involving the soul is delicate. The physical Mark itself, the sigil on your arm, it is a manifestation of the claim on your soul. It acts as a sort of parasite. Perhaps you already know, but the human soul is an immense source of power.”

“Yeah,” Dean said flatly, the word feeling sour in his mouth as he instantly recalled the disastrous year they’d learned that for themselves. He refused to look Cas’s way. “I’ve heard.”

Ramiel’s eyes darted from Dean to Cas. It was possible he realized just what Dean was referring to, as he ducked his head and said, “Ah, yes. Well,” before continuing on his spiel. “The Mark leeches from the soul, borrowing power and feeding back aggression and violence. The more power drawn, the more volatile the bearer will become.”

“Yeah, none of that is new information.” And frankly, none of it was doing anything to help the irritation throbbing at Dean’s temples.

“Its hold on the soul is inexorable.” Ramiel continued as though he’d never been interrupted, though his eyes had narrowed a bit more. It was always strangely satisfying, drawing out such human responses of disdain from angels. “Which is why, as I am sure you know, should the bearer die, the soul is tied to the body, made twisted and dark.”

Fury filled him, hot and familiar and oh so welcome. “You’re saying you knew. All of you, from the moment I took the Mark. You knew I would turn into a demon?”

“Yes.” If Ramiel could tell Dean was pissed, he didn’t react. “It is the same thing that happened to Cain.”

A thought struck Dean, and before he could think better of it, he spun around to pin his glare on Cas. “ _You_ knew? What, leading your frigging angel army too much for you to even give me a heads-up? What the hell, Cas?!” Beneath the anger and hostility was the too-familiar sting of betrayal. Cas hadn’t breathed so much as a warning, hadn’t shown any signs of dread or _anything_. For all he was so gung-ho on saving Dean now, he hadn’t given a damn before Dean had woken up with black eyes. Dean had nearly killed Sam. If he’d been even a little bit less interested in howling at the moon and a little more interested in embracing his dark side, he could have done some serious damage. And Cas had known, the whole time --

“You can’t honestly think I wouldn’t have warned you had I known.” Cas had his smiting face on, and Dean honestly couldn’t tell if he was angry at him or at Ramiel until his eyes softened with remorse, just the slightest. “Cain and the Mark aren’t exactly Heaven’s favorite subjects, Dean. I’d only ever heard vague warnings about the dangers of the Mark, and even then, it was only ever in the hypothetical. I didn’t know what would happen.” His eyes held Dean’s for a long moment before he turned, angry again, to Ramiel. “Why did no one think to warn us?”

For the first time, Ramiel truly lost his air of complacency, brows furrowing and a frown appearing on his face. “Watch yourself, Castiel. We had enough problems of our own to worry about over this past year, of which you should be well aware.” His words were obviously chastising, but Cas didn’t even flinch at the reminder of his own role in the angels’ fall. “In addition, your human hasn’t endeared himself much to Heaven. I am only helping now as there is something truly abhorrent in Michael’s vessel bearing a mark of such evil. Do not make me regret it.”

“And I thank you,” Cas said, though his tone was less grateful and more challenging. “But, forgive me, you haven’t given us much.”

“If there were fewer interruptions, perhaps I would have by now.”

Since taking on the Mark, Dean’s patience had been even shorter than usual, and dealing with pretentious winged dicks had him at the last thread of it. He grit his teeth, clenching his fist, and felt a flash of longing for the solid power of the First Blade in his palm. He was aching to put his fist through the asshole’s teeth, but he settled for a pained grimace as he waved at Ramiel to continue.

“As I was saying, the Mark is directly tied to the soul. There is no way to remove it that I know of.”

He’d tried not to get his hopes up, truly, but the words struck like a physical blow nonetheless. God fucking damnit.

“However, there may be a way to free yourself of its hold.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas stand straighter, leaning towards Ramiel. “How?”

“Have you ever tried to perform a spell, only to find that one of the runes was written incorrectly? Or perhaps have had to destroy a sigil to break warding?” He said it so calmly, as though he hadn’t just dropped a major bomb only to change subjects, and Dean had just about had enough of the lofty academic shit.

“What the hell does that have -- ”

“The form holds power,” Ramiel said, continuing with another warning glare Dean’s way. “That is why a damaged symbol can be disastrous.”

“Are you saying,” Cas said slowly, “that the same holds true for the Mark?”

Ramiel smiled, clearly pleased that one of them had got the picture. “Yes. I believe that corrupting the Mark’s form may break its hold.”

It was the closest they’d come to hearing anything close to a cure, and for a moment, Dean couldn’t move, paralyzed with relief and reluctant hope. “How?”

“Ah, yes.” Ramiel’s smile slipped some. “Well, that may be a bit more difficult. Soul magic is dangerous, and mostly hypothetical. I am afraid I cannot offer more on that.”

It wasn’t much. It was barely enough to justify the trip up here, and it certainly wasn’t the cure-all Sam and Cas had been hoping for. Dean felt numb, the little optimism he’d managed to summon up deflating at yet another dead end. But Cas stepped forward and grasped Ramiel’s hands in his, beaming. “Thank you, brother. Truly.”

Ramiel locked eyes with Cas and then nodded, gravely, before withdrawing his hands from Cas’s hold. “I wish you luck, Dean Winchester,” he said, and then disappeared in a flap of wings.

 

Their trip to Heaven felt like it had taken at least the better part of a day, but once the two of them stumbled from the playground back to the car, Dean’s phone read just after midnight. “I’ll call Sam,” Dean said as he slid onto the seat and started the ignition. “Why don’t you get comfy, get a few hours.” He resisted adding the obvious, ‘You look like you’re about to keel over.’

“I don’t need to sleep,” Cas said, though the huge yawn puncturing his words said otherwise. “I’m--”

“I swear, if you say you’re fine one more time, I’ll hit you. Don’t think I won’t.”

Cas grumbled something uncharitable under his breath, but turned over and curled up against the window without any further complaints. Unsurprisingly, he fell asleep in under a minute, a tiny patch of fog appearing on the window with every deep, even breath.

Dean just sat and looked for a minute. It was the first time he’d really got the chance to look Cas over since this all began. His skin was wan and waxy, dark circles smudged like bruises under eyes that were surrounded by far more lines than Dean remembered. Damnit. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the hollow knot that lurked beneath his breastbone, and then tore his eyes away. The moment he pulled onto the road, he grabbed his cell and hit speed dial.

Sam picked up on the second ring. Dean barely had time to take a breath before Sam started in on him. “Dean! How’s it going? You meet Ramiel yet? Did you find anything?”

“If you’d hold your damn horses for two seconds, maybe I could tell you.”

“Why do you -- are you whispering?”

“No,” he lied, but made no effort to raise his voice. “Yes. Shut up. Cas is asleep.” He could just picture the face Sam must have been making, complete with a smirk and raised eyebrows, so he plowed on, unwilling to hear the smug comment that was sure to follow. “I figured I already have to deal with your whining, no sense in waking him up to bitch at me, too.”

Surprisingly, Sam had no smart remark and only heaved a sigh. “He’s really not doing well, huh?”

All of Dean’s posturing just evaporated, leaving nothing to cover up the bone-deep weariness. “No,” he said, pinning the phone between his ear and his shoulder to free his hand long enough to swipe it over his eyes. “He’s not.”

“We’ll fix it. Both of you, I swear. We’ll figure something out.”

Dean wished he could feel as damn certain as Sam sounded. He couldn’t see this bright future Sam had envisioned, only the creeping darkness. “Ramiel did have an idea about the Mark.”

“Yeah?” He could almost hear the way Sam perked up.

“Yeah. He said there’s no way he knows of to remove it, but that maybe we can, uh, ‘corrupt its form’ to mess with its power. Kind of like how we can spray paint through warding sigils to break them.”

“So, what, we take a hot poker and scar your arm?”

Dean winced. “Yeah, no. Apparently the real Mark is on my soul. Tattoo was just an added bonus.”

Another sigh burst through the line, crackling with static at the edges. “So we’re looking at soul magic.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, grimacing. “‘Cause that’s always worked out so well for us in the past.”

Sam was apparently determined not to be disheartened. “Well, it’s more than we had yesterday. And anyways, I might have a few ideas. I’ll get started looking through the archives, maybe something will turn up.”

“Alright. See you in six or so hours.” He tossed the phone to the side, spared another glance Cas’s way, and then fixed his eyes forward on the dark expanse of road before them. He grit his teeth, rolled his shoulders back, and hit the gas, heading steadily onwards.

 

Dawn was just beginning to break when they pulled up to the bunker, the sky lightening from black to grey and streaking with pinks and blues as Dean pulled the parking brake and killed the engine. In the passenger seat, Cas startled awake. “What -- I fell asleep. How long was I out?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes.

“The whole trip.” Dean tried to say it teasingly, to keep things light, but he could hear the worry that came through of its own volition. He faked a cough and reached for the door to try and cover it, unsure if he could handle another iteration of ‘I’m fine’ from Cas at the moment. “Sam said he’d try to find stuff in the Men of Letters archive about soul magic when I called him. Who knows, maybe he’s found something.”

They were only paces away from the bunker door when it swung open. Sam had that bright-eyed, slightly crazed look of someone who hadn’t really slept in days and his hair was reaching frankly appalling levels of gravity defiance.

“Dude,” was all Dean can think to say, brain too tired to come up with some smart-ass jibe.

Sam didn’t miss a beat. “Shut up,” he said, letting them shoulder past him into the doorway. The moment the door closed behind them, he turned, grinning like a maniac. “I think I found it.”

The buzz he always got from long drives was already beginning to wear off, and the events of the past twelve hours hit him like a freight truck. He’d been hoping to catch at least a couple hours’ sleep before starting in on this again, but he knew the likelihood of them letting him crash now was slim to none. “Right. Jesus. Okay, let me at least get some caffeine first.”

Five minutes later, all three of them were seated around the table in the library, holding huge, steaming cups of coffee. “Okay,” Dean said once he’d taken a few long swigs from his mug. “Lay it on us.”

Sam put his own mug down, face immediately switching into business mode. “So, as soon as you called me, I had an idea.”

Dean, still feeling a bit spiteful about the lack of sleep, was unable to resist. “I’ll alert the media.”

Cas and Sam both shot him glares, the unamused expressions so eerily similar that he was startled into silence, torn between amusement and mild horror.

“As I was saying,” Sam said with a perfunctory eye-roll. “I remembered something you said, Cas, years ago. When we first met Balthazar, and he’d talked that kid into selling his soul for part of the Staff of Moses.”

“Aaron Birch,” Cas said, still clutching his cup. He hadn’t taken a single sip of his coffee, though he’d brought it up to his lips and simply inhaled a few times. “I remember.”

“Yeah, well, before you, uh, gave his soul a once-over,” here both Dean and Cas winced at the reminder, “you said that a claim on someone’s soul left a mark.”

Son of a bitch, that was right. A quick glance over at Cas showed that he looked just as stunned as Dean felt.

Before either of them could comment, though, Sam continued, an exhilarated grin slowly creeping onto his face. “I didn’t think a deal like Aaron made would be the right way to go, but I figured it was somewhere to start, right? So I went back to that section on Grace that we found last year. It was where we found that spell we used to try and track Gadreel,” he said with a nod in Cas’s direction. “Anyways, there were a whole bunch of spells and theories and whatnot there about how else Grace could be used. And I found this.” He picked up a file that had been resting near his elbow, beaming now, and tossed it across the table.

Dean opened it, leafing through the first few pages. “Any chance I could get the cliff notes?” he asked, grimacing. He was too tired for the English in the file, much less the shorthand, Latin, and Enochian notes scattered throughout.

The laugh that came from Sam was lighter than Dean had heard from him in months. “Yeah. It dates back to when they were trying to find ways to cure a demon, before they found the ritual with the purified blood.”

That sounded promising. Dean slid the file to Cas, who picked it up and immediately began rustling through it.

“A few of the Men of Letters apparently thought that the key to curing a demon was with angelic Grace,” Sam continued, leaning forward in his chair, eyes alight. “They said that since a demon is just a human soul that’s been twisted by the claim on it from Hell that counteracting that claim with something so heavenly and pure would essentially cure it.”

“There may be some precedence to that,” Cas murmured, not looking up from the file’s contents. “There are some stories about Kabaiel. She was stationed on earth, in Uruk, when she supposedly fell in love with a demon. Many say that she gave him her Grace so that they’d both be able to live a mortal life together.”

Dean cleared his throat, the story feeling far too uncomfortable and relatable for reasons he pretended not to know. “Is it true? Did it work?”

Cas looked up then, catching and holding Dean’s gaze for a moment before breaking it with a frustrated exhale. “I don’t know,” he said. “I had duties elsewhere and my memories of that time are… unreliable.”

Dean wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but he could guess. Freaking Naomi. He looked at Sam and almost immediately regretted it. His brother was looking from him to Cas, smile sympathetic and eyes way too knowing for Dean’s comfort. “So?” he asked, hoping to get Sam back on the subject of the spell. “What’s it involve, then?”

Sam shifted a bit, his smile fading. “We’d need Grace. Which is why it was scrapped, I guess, since there weren’t any angels running around then.” His eyes panned over to Cas. “Would it work?” he asked, voice softer than it’d been.

Cas closed the folder and pushed it back Sam’s way. “I don’t know. The theory is sound, and the spell itself looks reliable, but ensuring that it would distort the Mark may be--”

“I meant for you. Would it work, getting rid of your Grace like that?”

Dean had apparently missed the moment where they’d gone from hypothetical Grace to Cas’s very real, very toxic burning Grace. “Wait, what?”

“It’s possible,” Cas said, looking hesitant. “Though I suppose there’s also a good chance that the transfer would just speed up the process and kill me.”

“What the hell, guys?” Dean interjected, shoving his chair back from the table with one violent move. “We’re not seriously talking about this, are we?”

“Why not?” Sam asked, all traces of humor or eagerness gone. “Dean, this could be it. This could save you. _Both_ of you.”

He scoffed. “Or it could kill us.”

“Dean. Sam’s right,” Cas said, turning in his chair to face Dean head-on. “We can keep searching if we must, but given the circumstances, this may be our only chance.”

He didn’t say anything about time running out, about his own Grace burning out, about the possibility of losing Dean to another fit of violence spurred by the Mark, but he didn’t need to. The meaning was plain, and for all that Dean still had a mountain of misgivings about this spell, the ‘circumstances’ were also impossible to ignore. He glanced from Cas to Sam and back again, and the seriousness and acceptance on both of their faces seeped in. “Okay,” he said roughly, hating how helplessly the word fell from his mouth. “If you both think….” He sighed. “Screw it, I’m in.”

There were no sigils or runes to be painted, no ingredients to be amassed, no specific timing they had to wait for, only a small incantation that took Cas less than two minutes to memorize. The lack of buildup felt anticlimactic and far too quickly finished, giving Dean no time to gather his thoughts as they headed down to the dungeon, where they’d decided would be the smartest place to perform the spell. He felt like he hardly had the chance to catch his breath between giving in and Cas’s firm, “I’m ready.”

“Now?” Dean asked, torn between panic and reluctant acceptance.

“No time like the present?” Sam said, a bit of anxiety evident despite the awkward smile on his face.

There were too many worst case scenarios for Dean to have any confidence in an outcome where he’d see Sam again. Which meant this was it. He’d had to say goodbye to his brother more times than he could count, but it didn’t mean it had ever gotten any easier. He just watched as Sam visibly fought tears, smiling through the tightness in his own chest. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he decided, screw it. Everything he had to say, Sam already knew. “I’m thinking burgers tonight,” he said instead, aiming for casual and probably missing the mark by a mile. “What do you think?”

He tried to ignore how watery Sam’s usual bark of laughter sounded. “Yeah, Dean,” Sam said, a wobbly grin taking over his face. “Sounds like a plan.”

There was a moment where they both stood there, just looking at one another, before Sam broke it, crossing the room to wrap Dean in a tight hug. Dean couldn’t even bring himself to make a smart-ass remark and just gripped back, feeling his throat constrict.

“Be careful,” Sam said once they finally let go of one another. His eyes darted to the side, over Dean’s shoulder. “Both of you.”

“I’m always careful,” Dean said with a smirk, then turned around and walked past Cas through the door to the dungeon before he could think better of it. He inhaled sharply, ignoring the prickle at the corner of his eyes as he forced himself to focus on the devil’s trap painted onto the floor. He didn’t look up as dark shoes came into view a few moments later. “Just promise me one thing,” he said to Cas’s feet, voice gruff.

Cas was silent for a long moment. He probably knew what was coming and was figuring out how best to answer, Dean figured, which was why he was a bit surprised when Cas then said, “Anything.”

He looked up, meeting Cas’s gaze as he said, “If this doesn’t work, and by some miracle we both survive, you take me out.” Sure enough, there was no flicker of surprise on Cas’s face. “Right then. I mean it. I was willing to try this, but if it doesn’t work, that’s it. I can’t take that chance. You can tell Sam it was the transfer if you want.”

There was a long pause, and then, “Okay.”

Part of him had expected Cas to refuse, to fight it, to offer vague platitudes of how this was going to work or how there was always hope. That he instead accepted so readily was as alarming as it was gratifying. “Thank you.”

He knew this was the perfect opportunity to add ‘for everything,’ to say goodbye. Unlike with Sam, he’d never had to really, truly say goodbye to Cas before; if there’d one thing that’d been constant, it was that Cas had always left before they’d had to. Dean didn’t know how to even begin to put into words the pain and relief and pure sorrow building in his chest at the thought of this being the last chance to say and do all the things he’d always tried so hard not to think about -- so he didn’t. He bit back the confessions and just said, “Let’s get this thing over with.”

He couldn’t -- or wouldn’t, whatever -- read the expression on Cas’s face. Whatever was running through his head, though, Cas had apparently come to the same conclusion and opted against a long, drawn-out goodbye, for he stepped forward and rolled up Dean’s sleeve, exposing the Mark.

The moment Cas’s fingers closed around the Mark, Dean shivered. There were discordant notes of irritation and violence clawing their way through the thrill of want, and he was dizzy with it, unsure if he wanted to launch himself at Cas to kiss him or to tear open his flesh, to taste his blood, to feel his heart stutter and gasp as he ripped and cut and --

“Dean.” Cas’s voice sliced through the blood pounding in his ears. Before Dean could process what was happening, Cas closed what little distance there was left between them and brought a palm up to cup Dean’s cheek, his hand big and warm and grounding. It was hard to breathe through the desire and terror that seized his heart at the sweep of a thumb against his cheekbone. The pad of Cas’s thumb briefly caught on his skin, stuttering in its path and sending Dean’s heartbeat reeling. “I regret many things,” Cas said, and Dean could feel the exhale on his words in the scant distance between them. “But no matter how this turns out, doing all I can to help you will never be one of them.”

“Really, Cas?” It came out far more strangled and pleading than he would have liked. “We’re doing this now?”

Cas’s smile was wry and fond. “No,” he said, though there was no regret coloring his tone, “I suppose not.”

Dean couldn’t tell if the coolness seeping through him was disappointment or relief.

“When this is over,” Cas said instead, and that was definitely both eagerness and apprehension that rose in him at that, “perhaps then.” It was a statement, but there was an undeniable question in it.

Dean swallowed against the fear, reached for the small stirrings of courage, and said, “I’ll hold you to it.”

The surprised joy that skittered across Cas’s face was gratifying, and gave Dean a bit more determination to see this thing through. “Okay. Ready?” he asked. The arm that didn’t bore the mark came up, hand clutching at the sleeve of Cas’s coat in an unconscious attempt to brace himself.

“Whenever you are,” Cas confirmed, his hand finally dropping from Dean’s jaw.

Dean met his eyes and nodded, then grasped, holding on to the patient blue like a lifeline as the world went white in a searing, unbearable flash.

 

When he came to, he was staring at the cracked ceiling of his bedroom. He inhaled and then immediately regretted it. Son of a _bitch_ , his arm felt like it was on fire. He hissed in pain as he brought his arm up to his face to get a better look. Once his vision stopped swimming from the pain, he could see the shiny pink imprint of fingers wrapped around the Mark, fully distorting the brand. “Well, shit,” he said aloud, then winced. His throat felt raw, like he’d been yelling for hours.

“Dean?” He hadn’t noticed that Sam was asleep in a chair beside him. Dean’s voice must have awoken him. “Oh thank God, you’re awake. How you feeling, man?” He leaned forward, hovering a bit.

“Like my arm’s gone a couple rounds with a hot iron,” he said, moving to sit up against the headboard.

Sam grinned, happiness evident on every inch of his face. “It’s good to see you up and about. We were getting kind of worried.”

“We?” Relief filled him, cool and soothing. That could only mean one thing. “Cas is okay, then?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Human, but we kinda figured that was the best case scenario, really.”

A smile slid onto his face of its own volition. “Awesome.”

Sam cleared his throat, some of the happiness fading from his smile to be replaced with hesitancy as he looked down for a moment. “And, uh, what about you?”

Dean paused. “Kind of hungry?” he said automatically. What about him? It took a second to realize, but he felt… _good_. He didn’t feel anything besides the pain from his forearm. No clawing aggression, no disconnect, no emptiness digging its way out of his chest. “I think it worked, Sammy,” he said, and was astonished by the immediate onslaught of feeling that sentence brought. Guilt and horror and regret crashed upon him like a tsunami, filling the holes in him in waves. Damn, it felt like it’d been years since he’d _felt_ this much, like the Mark had put a damper on all his emotions. It hurt, but he wouldn’t take the alternative, not for anything. “Shit. I think it worked.”

Sam’s face broke into the widest smile Dean had seen in a long time as he leapt from his seat to wrap Dean in a bone-crushing hug.

“Ow, dude, get off of me.”

Sam reluctantly let go, but his grin was still firmly in place. “Sorry, man,” he said, though he didn’t seem it in the least.

“Jesus, this thing hurts,” Dean said, extending his arm to reveal the fresh welts.

Sam hissed and grabbed Dean’s wrist, maneuvering his arm so he could see it better. “Dude.”

“Yeah.”

“Guess that means Cas’s marked up both of your arms now,” Sam said, lips twitching into a shit-eating grin.

Dean let out a short puff of a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, fuzzball.”

“Sam?” Cas’s voice came from the doorway. “Is everything all right? I thought I heard…” He trailed off as he came into the room, clearly catching sight of the two of them, awake and both grinning like morons. He looked a million times better, eyes more alert, skin healthier, the confusion quickly dropping from his face to be replaced with a hesitant smile.

“Yeah, everything’s good,” Sam confirmed, his voice tearing Dean away from his once-over of Cas. He stood up, his broad smile turning into something far closer to a smirk as he added, “Uh, actually, I’m going to grab Dean some grub. Anything for you?”

Cas didn’t look away from where his eyes were fixed on Dean. “No, thank you.”

Dean looked away, feeling his face flush as Sam sent him an unsubtle wink and headed out of the room. “Dude. Pie,” he called after him. If he was going to go along with Sam’s completely transparent excuse, he at least deserved to get some damn pie from it.

“Fine, jerk.” Sam said with a laugh. “But you owe me one.”

“Whatever, bitch,” he yelled back, saying ‘thank you’ in the best way he knew how. He owed Sam far more than one.

Then they were alone. Cas was still hovering by the door, and for a few, long moments, the silence reigned. “Hey, Cas,” Dean finally said, breaking it.

An echo of the same smile Cas had given him just before doing the spell appeared on his face once more. “Hello, Dean.”

“You’re looking better,” he said, and then was struck with the oddest sense of déjà vu. It felt like it’d been a million years since the last time they were here having a similar conversation.

Cas finally dropped his gaze, ducking his head a bit. “As are you.”

Their last conversation hung in the air, but among the awkwardness and hesitancy there was also undeniable warmth and comfort. Dean decided, screw it. He pushed himself off the bed with only a slight wince at the pull on his arm and strode over to where Cas was. He felt Cas suck in a surprised breath as Dean moved into his space, but neither of them said anything else before Dean closed the distance and finally, finally kissed him.

Objectively, he’d had far better kisses, but with the way his head just went quiet and the hushed sense of satisfaction and belonging that filled his heart at the slow, contented press of Cas’s lips against his, he couldn’t recall a single one of them. When they parted, his breath was coming faster. His chest felt tight with happiness, like some long-estranged part of him had finally come home, and his face felt like it could split from how wide his grin grew. “Took us long enough,” he joked, seeing his own dizzy joy reflected in Cas’s warm smile.

“We have plenty of time to make up for it,” Cas said softly, and then leaned in again to begin to do just that.


End file.
